


Best-Laid Plans

by strobelighted



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-21
Updated: 2013-05-21
Packaged: 2017-12-12 13:53:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/812305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strobelighted/pseuds/strobelighted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek is ready for Stiles to come home from college. He's got everything planned out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Best-Laid Plans

**Author's Note:**

  * For [drunktuesdays](https://archiveofourown.org/users/drunktuesdays/gifts).



Derek wakes up early and in a surprisingly good mood. Surprising for him, that is, not really surprising for normal people whose boyfriends are coming home from college. He stretches in bed, lets the sunlight wash over him. It's pleasantly warm under his blankets, and all he can think about is doing this when Stiles is back. Waking up to a warm body next to him, lazy morning kisses, wandering hands, soft skin.

He palms himself lightly, thinking about Stiles's eyes shining in the morning light, his pale, mole-dotted skin, the soft noises he'd make as Derek took him in hand, too sleepy yet to make actual words come out.

It doesn't take long for Derek to bring himself off, and he feels loose and content afterward. He allows himself a few moments more to lounge in the sheets before slipping out of bed and into the shower.

He makes himself a hearty breakfast, eggs, with sausage and bacon, glass of milk on the side. He follows that up with the last of the Eggo waffles, throws the box away. It's the perfect way to start in on his day's cleaning. Stiles probably won't care that much, but Derek still wants the place to look nice when Stiles gets here, to smell less like week old takeout and dirty socks. He wants Stiles to come in and rub his scent on everything, until all that Derek owns is heavy with it, permeated.

Around noon, he gets a text from Stiles that he's just left his dorm and is on his way. It can take three to four hours to get to Beacon Hills, depending on traffic and how fast you drive. And Stiles will probably go see his dad home at first, unpack, relax, catch up. That will take a while, just enough that by the time dinner comes around, Stiles will be hungry, and Derek can swing by his place, pick him up -- and he knows the Camaro gets Stiles hot, is counting on it this time --, take him out to that fancy place with the good steak. He knows the diet Stiles lives on as a student, and he knows Stiles won't let himself have anything good because he's worried about his dad's health.

They'll talk, and laugh, and Stiles will tell Derek all about how crazy his finals were, crazy enough that they'd barely talked on the phone for two weeks. Derek will listen, and smile, and hold Stiles's hand across the table, and shift his foot up so his calf touches Stiles's, and Stiles will look at him with a sparkle in his eye and a waggle on his eyebrow, a promise.

Then Derek will bring him back to his apartment, where the sheets will be clean when they slip into them, and he'll kiss Stiles, slow and deep, taking his time to learn him all over again, touching him on his neck, his shoulders, his wrists, the small of his back, his strong thighs, his long legs. He'll kiss every inch of Stiles he can get his mouth on, run his hands everywhere he can reach, and he'll slowly make Stiles come apart under him.

Three hours later, the house has been vacuumed all over, the sheets have been changed, the trash is out, and there is only one load of laundry left in the machine. Derek is just about to check his phone again, see if Stiles had texted, when the doorbell rings.

He's not expecting anyone today. He'd made sure to clear his schedule, told everyone not to bother him on pain of serious bodily injury.

The doorbell rings again, and Derek huffs, annoyed, and moves toward the door. The faster he can get this over with, the better. It's ringing a third time when he pulls the door open and the scathing words die on his tongue.

"Oh thank god you're here," Stiles says before stepping in past Derek, dropping the two bags he's carrying directly onto the floor.

"What?" Derek says, because he wasn't expecting Stiles until much later.

"Fucking finally," Stiles breathes, and then he's right there, in Derek's space, grabbing him around the neck and mashing their mouths together.

It's a bit weird at first, when Stiles is overly enthusiastic and Derek is still at a bit of a loss, but they get past it quickly, falling into their natural rhythm, hands settling around shoulders and waists, mouths moving just right, tongues slipping in and out and against each other, and Derek let's out a low moan, because he's missed this, missed it so much.

Stiles lets out an answering moan and he pulls back, leaving Derek slightly dazed and allowing Stiles to manhandle him back, into the kitchen, until his back hits the counter. As soon as they stop, Stiles drops to his knees.

"You have no idea how long I've been waiting for this," he's saying, as his hands are busy unbuttoning Derek's jeans, pushing the zipper down. "Like, I've dreamed about this," Stiles continues, "actually dreamed about it. Your fucking perfect dick."

Derek feels hot all over now, doesn't quite know what to do with his hands. Stiles has finally gotten both his jeans and boxer-briefs all the way down, and is staring at Derek's dick like he wants to eat it -- well, Derek figures, that's not too far from the truth.

"I've missed you," Stiles murmurs to Derek's dick, and then he nuzzles against it.

"Uh," Derek says, but all words are driven from his mind as Stiles goes all in and swallows him down. It's not all the way, he can't do that ("yet," the Stiles voice in his brain says), but his mouth is hot and wet and one of his hands moves to wrap around the base while the other reaches down to caress Derek's balls, playing with them before a finger slips further back, pressing up against the skin there before circling around his hole.

It's almost too much at once for Derek to take, and he tries to tamp down the feeling to hold back a little, to savor it. But it's hard to do that when he looks down only to find Stiles staring back up at him, his eyelashes dark, his mouth red and wide and moving continuously, over and over, up and down Derek's cock in a steady rhythm that Derek can't resist. Faced with Stiles's mouth and tongue and hands and eyes, Derek just can't hold out that long, and it would be embarrassing, but he's too turned on right now to care. He feels it, building up in his toes and fingers, traveling up through the backs of his knees, his elbows, the feeling building low in his belly and spreading out all through the rest of him, and then there it is, the peak, the crest, the what the fuck ever it can be called, he doesn't care, because he's coming, long and hard, into Stiles's mouth. 

Stiles waits just long enough, until he's got pretty much all Derek's going to give, lets Derek slip out of his mouth before standing up and practically launching himself at Derek again. Derek's feeling too loose and shaky still, but he manages to catch Stiles, two hands on his back, and leans back against the counter to support himself.

"C'mere," Stiles breathes, and then he's on Derek's mouth just as he was when he came in the door, demanding, pushing his tongue in, letting Derek taste himself. Derek lets him, following Stiles's lead, flicking out his own tongue to drag against Stiles's lower lip in that way that he likes. Stiles moans into his mouth, moves to kiss along his jaw, and Derek lets his head tip back so Stiles can bite at his neck.

"Fuck," Stiles groans, "this is -- " But Derek doesn't find out, because Stiles stops speaking in favor if kissing along Derek's throat some more, and then his whole body moves against Derek and Derek realizes what Stiles is doing just as Stiles fits a hand into his own pants and lets out a sigh.

"I can -- " Derek starts, and gestures, but Stiles shakes his head where it's resting against Derek's shoulder.

"Nah, just keep doing what you're doing," he says, so Derek goes back to simply holding Stiles, rubbing his hands up and down his back, one of them slipping up under the shirt to get at skin. It doesn't take too long before he feels Stiles's muscles tighten, hears his heart speed up, and then he smells it, the smell of Stiles's come, so heady and sweet.

When Stiles pulls his hand out of his pants, Derek takes it with his own, brings it up to his mouth, and licks all along it, the palm, taking each of the fingers into his mouth one at a time to get at the rest. When he's done, wraps his own hand around it, lets their fingers tangle together. Stiles is leaning against him, looking straight at him with those large eyes, smiling softly now that the orgasm has left him mellow.

"I love you," he says, as if it's the simplest thing in the world. Derek's heart clenches at the words, and he can't help the smile he feels blooming on his face.

He answers Stiles with a kiss.

They end up dozing on the couch, Derek lying on his back with Stiles on top of him, arms lazily wrapped around one another. Derek is tracing patterns with his fingers on Stiles’s back, breathing in the familiar, comforting scent of him, his eyes closed.

“You know,” he says, and it comes out low and raspy, sleepy, “you completely ruined my plans for today.”

Stiles moves to prop his chin on Derek’s chest.

“Oh yeah?” he says, mouth curved up in a smile.

“I was gonna take you out,” Derek says. “That place you really love by the lake.”

“Fancy,” Stiles says. “Were you gonna get all dressed up and pretty for me too?”

Derek opens his eyes and looks down to find Stiles grinning up at him. He shrugs but doesn’t deny it. “Then I was going to bring you back here and have my wicked way with you,” he says with as straight a face as he can manage.

That makes Stiles laugh. “I love when you have your wicked wolfy way with me. Now I’m almost sorry I spoiled everything.”

“You should be,” Derek says, mock scowling. “Now I’ll have to cancel our reservations.”

Stiles’s eyebrows rise up. “You made actual reservations? You really are the most perfect boyfriend ever.”

Derek feels his face go hot. They’ve been going out for a while now, but he still can’t get quite used to the bare honesty of Stiles’s compliments.

Stiles moves to give him a quick, hard kiss, and then rises up, ignoring Derek’s protests.

“Nope,” he says, “no complaining. We are going on this date.” And then he’s moving, gathering up his shoes and jacket. “I’m gonna stop by my dad’s, get all ready for dinner, and then you’re going to come pick me up, and we’ll have a delicious dinner, and then you’ll bring me back here and ravish me.”

He’s all ready to go, standing in front of the door now, and Derek stands up from the couch, moves closer.

“What about --?” he gestures at the bags Stiles had dropped when he’d come in.

“Oh, I thought I’d leave those here,” Stiles says, and there’s a warm blush to his cheeks now. His heart rate has picked up slightly too. Derek steps in, wrapping his hands around Stiles, and gives him a long, slow kiss.

“I love you, too,” he whispers when he finally pulls back, letting Stiles go.

The grin on Stiles’s face is wide and bright. “I know,” he says, and then he’s stepping out the door, hands in his pockets, leaving Derek with a warm feeling of contentment in his place.

**Author's Note:**

> Concrit is always welcome!


End file.
